Equivocacy
by Ryeloza
Summary: Season seven redone.  As Bree deals with a secret that will change her life forever, the other ladies of Wisteria Lane deal with big changes of their lives as well.  Chapter four: Carlos wants a baby, and Susan finds out who rented her house.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: **I have absolutely no claim to _Desperate Housewives_, nor do I want to make one. I'm just having fun, I swear.

**Story Summary: **Season seven redone. Picks up after the season six finale, and goes AU from there.

**A/n: **I was in kind of a bad mood today, and I wanted to do something to improve it. I've been playing around with doing my own version of season seven for awhile, but I was stuck on how to approach the baby switch plotline. I finally came up with an idea today that I hope is intriguing as opposed to absurd, but we'll see. Please let me know what you think.

**Equivocacy **

By** Ryeloza**

**Introduction**

It was a quiet Thursday night on Wisteria Lane when Jack Pinkham arrived outside the home of Mrs. Bree Hodge. He hadn't been there in years, but the lawn was as immaculate as he remembered; the flowerbeds as beautiful; the house as meticulously kempt. His uneasiness grew as he took in each minute, monotonous detail, a plethora of subtle reminders that Bree was not the type of woman who welcomed change with open arms. It made him feel even more like Death, creeping about with grief and pain billowing behind him. His words would be his scythe, ready to bring about the most unimaginable reality.

Jack had been nominated for this job quite against his will. He was a mere cog in the massive legal wheel of Fairview Memorial Hospital, but certainly there were people more influential and experienced than he was who could break this sort of news to a person. The fact that he'd blurted out that he knew Bree had been his downfall. It had created this blind faith that the news would be better coming from someone she knew; that it would be less horrible somehow (as though that could possibly be true). All of his protestations—that he'd only seen Bree a handful of times since Rex had died, that he didn't know her that well, that he'd never given someone news like this in his whole life—were fruitless in the face of such unrelenting logic: Jack Pinkham was the man for this job.

He'd spent all day with his stomach in knots, rehearsing the best way to give her the news, and still he had nothing more than, "Bree, I have something to tell you." Improvisation was a weak skill even in the best of times, so Jack didn't particularly regard this as a good plan of attack, but the words had never come to him and he didn't think they ever would. Putting off the task—which wasn't even an option—would not necessarily help, but it didn't stop him from treating each step toward her front door like the arduous chore it was. The lights were on, warm and welcoming; he'd never wanted to flee more in his life.

So it was with monumental effort that Jack reached up and rang the doorbell.

Bree was prompt. It wasn't surprising as Jack was fairly certain she'd never been late a day in her life. There was a click of heels in the foyer, the door opened with a sharp _click_ and Bree stared at him, rather agog at his sudden reappearance on her doorstep. Jack felt a single shimmer of relief: that was not the Bree he'd known—the Bree he'd known would have feigned polite indifference if the pope himself had shown up at her house, inviting him in with a smile and a graceful wave of her hand. Perhaps things had changed, somehow.

"Jack," she said, her voice warm if not tinged with intrigue, "what are you doing here?"

Another Miss Manners _faux pas_. "Hello, Bree. Can I come in for a minute? There's something I have to tell you." He cringed at how robotic he sounded, but knowing that the rest would come in somewhat of a stuttering, fearful mess wasn't entirely reassuring. With a slightly raised eyebrow, Bree beckoned him inside, leading him to the living room and gesturing that he sit. Jack, tense with pent up energy, declined.

"This isn't—I have something…"

"To tell me?"

"Yes," sighed Jack, momentarily relieved by her insight until he remembered that he had already said that part. "It's something…big."

"Oh?"

It was polite interest at best; she didn't really believe him, and Jack felt his heart sink. "Life-changing big," he amended. And then, at Bree's strained smile, he added, "I work for the hospital, you know."

Bree's smile twitched, becoming more of a smirk. "I do remember, Jack. Rex and I had you and Tara over for dinner about two dozen times while you worked together. How is Tara?"

"She's fine. Good. Bree, this is about something that happened at the hospital."

"With Rex?"

"No." Jack sighed in frustration, running his hand through his hair. He really should have been better prepared. "This has to do with you. We…A few days ago, one of our nurses confessed…"

There was a long pause where he stared at a point above Bree's shoulder, trying and failing to find the words. Finally, she gave him a gentle prompt. "Confessed what?"

"Confessed that she switched two babies at birth."

Against his better judgment, Jack's eyes flickered to Bree's face. The seriousness of the situation seemed to have finally hit her; her pale face had lost some of its pallor and her eyes were glassy. "You're not saying…But Andrew and Danielle weren't even born at that hospital."

"It wasn't Andrew or Danielle." Jack took a deep breath. Now was not the time to hesitate, not with Bree looking at him with those fearful eyes. He forced the words out even though they felt wedged in his throat.

"It was you."

For a moment, Bree gazed at him, incredulous disbelief etched into her porcelain features. She looked eerily doll-like, as though the life had gone out of her. Then she gave a queer little laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious, Bree. We looked at the nurse's records; it was just after she was hired. She was put on probation soon after for undisclosed reasons."

"But…That doesn't…That can't be true."

"The hospital is inclined to believe her. Of course, you'd probably need to take a DNA test to be sure. We haven't contacted the other woman yet—"

"I can't believe this," Bree interrupted. She stood up, pacing the room in a jerky, painful fashion as though something was biting at her heels. He'd never seen her so discomposed; not even at Rex's funeral. "This is absurd. You're saying—What are you saying? That I have a whole other family somewhere?"

"Yes, I suppose you could look at it that way."

"What other way is there to look at it, Jack? I can't—I can't believe this."

"Bree…"

But Jack didn't know what else to say. He'd managed to break the news; that was his job. This part, comforting her, this was what he'd been so afraid of; this was where he'd known he'd falter. There was nothing to say or do that would make this any less shocking.

"I think…I think you need to leave, please," she said distractedly. She seemed on the verge of falling to pieces, and it was only the knowledge that breaking down in front of him would be worse than doing it in private that propelled him out of the door.

"Bree, please," he said as she ushered him outside, "call me when you've thought about this. We can talk some more. Figure out what you want to do."

He forced his card into her hand, but he wasn't sure she even recognized the gesture before shutting the door in his face.

Yes, it was a quiet Thursday night when Jack Pinkham arrived at Bree Hodge's home. A night that would change her life forever.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclamer: **Nope. Not mine.

**A/n: **Thank you all for the kind reviews! I'm relieved to hear that this wasn't the craziest idea I've ever had. The first couple of chapters are really going to be tying up the loose ends that were left at the end of season six, but then I plan on moving in a completely different direction than the show did. I hope you guys stick with me; this is probably going to be a long one.

Thanks so much for reading!

**Equivocacy**

By **Ryeloza**

**Chapter One**

Nearly twelve hours before Jack Pinkham showed up to turn Bree's life upside-down, Bree was about to do the same thing to Gabrielle Solis. Even if she had been aware of it at the time, she wouldn't have been able to appreciate the irony—the guilt she felt was too encompassing. Orson's words seemed to ring in her head, reminding her over and over that she was a hypocrite; Susan telling her that she was a good friend only intensified how ill she felt. For over twelve years, she had barely thought of Mrs. Solis; of what Andrew had done; of what she and Rex had covered up. The wound had healed and been forgotten, and she had moved on with her life until Sam's sudden prodding had reminded her of what she had done. Until Orson had made her look at the mistake with fresh eyes.

Hypocrite.

The word was a fiery knot in Bree's stomach, and she knew that even once she confessed, the healing would be superficial. Gaby wasn't going to forgive her for this, and Bree already knew that she was about to end a fifteen year friendship. But she wasn't sure that keeping the secret would be any less detrimental to their relationship. Not anymore; not with the knowledge she had now.

Hypocrite. Hypocrite. Hypocrite. She could hear it with each step she took. She wouldn't have peace until she rectified it.

"Bree?"

Bree blinked, turning to look at Gaby as though she'd forgotten she was there with her. With concern, Gaby reached out to link their arms, tethering Bree back to reality like an anchor. This wasn't a concept any longer, something she was just thinking of telling her friend; she'd tread into the mess and now she had to finish it.

"Orson left me," she said carefully. A test of the waters—she wasn't the type of person to just jump into the deep end. "This morning. He packed his bags and left."

"Oh honey. I'm sorry." Gaby paused and turned to face her. The sympathy in her voice made Bree cringe, and she glanced up and down the street, ill at ease because they were still out in public. "What happened?" asked Gaby as Bree forced her to start walking again, leading her up the walk to her front door. "I thought you and Orson were back on track."

"He found out something…A secret I've been keeping from him. From you."

"From me?"

Bree nodded and opened the front door, but Gaby didn't move. She was staring at Bree with frank curiosity now, waiting for the final blow. "Gaby, please," she said, hating the hint of desperation in her voice. "Can we go inside and talk about this?"

"Why? So you can calm me down with tea and baked goods? Just tell me what's going on. Stop beating around the bush."

Like a caged animal, Bree let her eyes roam the neighborhood for a moment, anxious for a way out. A release from the guilt, from the truth, from Gaby and the pain she was about to cause her. She wanted it to all disappear—she wanted to disappear. And then, quite unintentionally, Bree spotted the last distraction she would ever have thought of or hoped for, the one thing that finally pushed that echoing horrible word from her head. Without thinking, she clutched Gaby's arm and nodded across the street.

"Gaby, look over there…Is that…?"

Brow furrowed, Gaby turned and glanced across the street, and in a second, her body went from questioning and defensive to rigid with shock. "No way," she said under her breath, looking back at Bree with wide, horrified eyes. "Tell me that is not Paul Young."

The two women watched as Lee led Paul into Susan's front door. It was rather like watching a horror film, and Bree felt as though a scream was building deep inside of her—whether it was born of fear or frustration or surprise, she didn't know. But Paul couldn't be back; he couldn't be in Susan's house right now.

"I thought he was in jail."

"So did I."

They stared at one another in quiet horror for a moment, and then in silent agreement, marched right back from where they'd just come, hurrying across the street and up Lynette's driveway. She was sitting on her porch swing with Tom, holding the baby and looking perfectly calm, apparently unaware of the ghost that had just stepped back into their world. She spotted them before Tom did and raised an eyebrow in amusement; Bree could only imagine how flustered she and Gaby looked.

"Did you see?" demanded Gaby without any pretense of politeness. She marched up and leaned back against the porch railing, pointing a finger across the yard at Susan's. "Did you see?"

"See what?" asked Tom, bewildered.

"Paul Young!"

There was a long pause as Tom and Lynette exchanged that infinitely annoying look they shared whenever they thought someone was saying or doing something crazy. Bree often wondered if they were aware that other people could see them. Lynette glanced back at Gaby a second later, smirking. "What are you talking about?"

"Lee and Paul Young just walked into Susan's house!"

"It's true," said Bree, preempting another baldly rude grin.

"That's insane," said Lynette, though she sounded slightly less confident. "Paul Young is in jail."

"Paul Young is over there right now probably getting ready to burn Susan's house down!"

Finally concerned, Lynette handed the baby off to Tom and got up from the swing, bypassing Gaby to go to the edge of the porch and peer over at Susan's yard. "Lynette," said Tom. He sounded annoyed—either underwhelmed by Paul's sudden reappearance or bothered by something else. "Lynette—"

"Shh!" she hissed, waving a hand in his direction.

"You're supposed to be taking it easy. The doctor said—"

Lynette rounded on him. "I have had five children. I think I know how much my body can handle."

For a long, awkward moment they glared at one another, and then Tom stood up, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Bree caught the words, "…most stubborn woman alive…" and then Tom disappeared into the house. Huffy, Lynette rolled her eyes and turned back toward Susan's, Gaby hurrying to join her and Bree slowly bringing up the rear. "Lynette," she said tentatively, "are you sure—"

But she didn't get to finish the thought. At that moment, Susan's front door opened and Lee came out, practically dancing down Susan's front lawn. There was no sign of Paul, and Bree thought that this was what prompted Lynette to shout, "Lee!"

Their ex-neighbor jumped, startled by Lynette, and looked over at them warily. Bree thought for a moment he was going to ignore them, but as Lynette grew impatient and gestured for him to come over, he seemed to think better of it. With a twitchy little glance back at Susan's house, he walked over to the edge of the fence and loudly hissed, "What?"

"Get over here!"

With a largely exaggerated groan, Lee actually attempted to hop the fence between Susan and Lynette's yards, an idea that seemed better in theory than execution. Instead of a graceful leap, he half-jumped, half-fell into Lynette's yard, and red-faced and limping made his way up to the porch. "What do you want?" he demanded as he approached. "I'm a little busy!" As if to accentuate this, he glanced at his watch.

"You have plenty of time to strut past Bob before he leaves for work!" snapped Gaby. "Now dish! What the hell is Paul Young doing in Susan's house?"

"What do you think?" Lee brushed some dirt from his shoulder and scowled. "He's renting it."

"What?"

"No he's not."

"Susan would never—"

"Susan never even asked me who picked up the lease," said Lee, and this time Bree didn't feel bad when Lynette rolled her eyes. What in the world was Susan thinking? Lee didn't seem to notice their reactions.

"What's the big deal? He used to live here, right? What, did he dare to put one of those plastic flamingos on the lawn or something?"

"He murdered one of the neighbors," said Lynette offhandedly. The approach seemed to work; for the first time, Lee looked at them with genuine interest and vague concern.

"Excuse me?"

"It's a long story," said Gaby dismissively. "The point is that up until now, he was locked up in jail where he belongs. So tell me what he's doing renting Susan's house!"

"I—don't know. Why don't you ask him?"

"Lee!"

"Hey! I just closed my second deal ever! Now if you don't mind, I have to go rub that news in the face of someone more important!"

Lee strode off, not attempting to go over the fence this time, and Bree exchanged an uneasy look with Lynette over the top of Gaby's head. Of all the people in the world to show up again…

"I don't like this," she said, crossing her arms and going to sit down on Lynette's swing. "Even if he's out of jail for some reason, why would he come back here?"

"He's a lunatic," snapped Gaby. "All the lunatics come here. Or haven't you noticed that?"

Lynette smiled sardonically, though the gesture seemed halfhearted. She looked exhausted and genuinely worried. "Sweetie," said Bree carefully, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Lynette dismissively. Before Bree could protest—or at least insist that she sit down again—Lynette sighed.

"How are we going to tell Susan?"


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **_Desperate Housewives_ is in no way, shape or form mine. I promise.

**A/n: **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad you're enjoying this so far. It's taking me a little time to figure out how to plot this (which plots are going to be longer and which will be resolved quickly), but I hope you guys will stick with me. I'm having a good time writing this one.

Thanks for reading!

-Ryeloza

**Equivocacy**

By **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Two**

Susan Delfino stood in the middle of her kitchen trying not to cry. She thought that under the circumstances—all of the emotional distress of the past few days and her being, well, _her_—that she'd held up pretty well so far, but the moment she'd stepped into this dingy little kitchen with its 70s era linoleum and ugly cupboards, staving off tears was more of a battle than she felt prepared to fight. She wanted to go home.

This was home.

"Hey, where do you want this lamp?"

Startled, Susan leaned over the counter and opened the wooden slatted doors in the wall that kept the living room concealed from the kitchen. Judging by the look of things, Mike had come a lot further in unpacking than she had; the boxes of dishes and pots and pans surrounding her were still untouched. She nudged the nearest one away with a guilty conscience. At this rate, MJ was going to be done with his room before she even started.

"Susan?"

"Oh, next to the couch is fine."

Mike moved the lamp where she said, wrestling with the cord as he crouched down to reach the outlet behind the couch. For a second, Susan actually smiled at the advantageous view of his ass, but then she made the mistake of glancing back at the flowered wallpaper. It was disheartening to think that anywhere she looked here, she was only going to find reminders of what she'd lost.

"Susan, your phone's ringing."

"Huh?"

"Phone." Mike turned his head to frown at her, and then picked up her cell phone from where it lay on the coffee table. "It's Lynette. You want me to answer?"

"No." The last thing she needed was to hear Lynette's voice right now. It was a guarantee that she'd break down. "No, I'll call her back later."

"Are you okay?"

Susan shrugged. She desperately wanted to lie and say that everything was okay just so Mike wouldn't give her the look he was giving her now (that one that said, "Susan, I've already apologized a hundred times. You need to stop making me feel like shit."). On the other hand, he was her husband, and if she couldn't talk to him, who could she talk to?

"This place reminds me of where I grew up."

"Yeah," agreed Mike, standing up and looking around the apartment with some strange expression of fondness. "It does have kind of a '70s vibe, doesn't it?"

"That wasn't a compliment. Doesn't it freak you out a little that this place probably hasn't been renovated in about thirty-five years?"

Mike crossed the room, leaned into the window, grasped her shirt and pulled her in for a kiss. Despite everything, her heart still sped up. "Susan," he said, releasing her with a fond, but exasperated smile, "this place is cheap and clean. I'm not looking for much else right now."

"Still…" She looked at the wallpaper again and shuddered. "I'm going to call the landlord and see if I can paint or something. These flowers give me the creeps."

"All flowers give me the creeps." He picked up a throw pillow with a bold pattern of roses and wrinkled his nose at it. Annoyed, Susan stole it from him and hugged it to her chest.

"Don't you have some unpacking to finish?"

"Don't you have some to start?"

Scowling, Susan threw the pillow at his head and then slammed the slatted doors shut. It didn't block out Mike's laughter, but she thought that maybe she should be happy that at least one of them still had something to smile about.

* * *

Gaby headed home after the second time Lynette tried and failed to reach Susan. As appealing as endless speculation about Paul might have been, Lynette had about three hundred distractions at home, and by the third time Tom came out just to "check on things," Gaby had had enough. If she wanted to deal with an attention starved man, she'd do it at her own house. In fact, she was quite sure that was what she was about to do.

Carlos had arrived home from his business trip just in time to see the girls off to school this morning and promptly fell into a coma in their bed. If past experience was any indicator, by now he was bound to be wide awake. Not that she was complaining; she could think of much worse ways to spend a Thursday afternoon than with her husband.

As soon as she entered the house, Gaby toed off her sneakers and unzipped her sweatshirt, tossing it aside. The house was unusually warm (she had the suspicion that Celia had been messing with the thermostat again), but she headed upstairs without bothering to check and by the time she got to the bedroom, she'd shed her pants as well. Just as she'd predicted, Carlos was sitting up in bed, obviously freshly showered and grinning ear-to-ear as she came into the room.

"I was wondering when you'd get home."

Gaby snorted, falling on the bed next to her husband. Immediately, he put a hand on her hip, one finger slipping under the band of her panties. "I'm surprised you were patient."

"I was hoping you'd come bearing lunch."

Gaby slapped his chest. "I was over at Lynette's. You're lucky that her baby has a healthy set of lungs or I might not have come home."

Carlos' eyes drifted from her thong to her eyes. "Lynette had her baby?"

"Yeah. Didn't I mention that on the phone?" She shook her head dismissively. "Doesn't matter. There're bigger things happening. You'll never guess who Susan rented her house to."

"You're right," agreed Carlos, tugging at her panties now. Apparently his interest didn't extend much further than that. "I won't."

"Paul Young."

Carlos frowned and gave her a slightly disgusted look. "I'm trying to get your underwear off and you're going to mention Paul Young?"

"That's all you're going to say?"

"Ooh, Paul Young. I'm terrified. Can we have sex now?"

Gaby sat up and moved just out of reach of his arm; he groaned in frustration, but she ignored him. First Tom's under-reaction, and now Carlos'. How didn't they understand what a big deal this was?

"He was in jail for murder."

"I remember that."

"So don't you think this is worth discussing?"

Carlos raised an eyebrow, giving her a look that said he thought she was crazy. It made her want to put on some ratty old sweats and ignore him completely. "Gaby, I don't really care right now. If you wanted to endlessly speculate, why didn't you just stay at Lynette's?"

"Oh between the baby and Tom we weren't getting any talking done anyway."

"Fine. You want to talk?"

"Yes."

"Then I have something that I've been meaning to discuss with you. How would you feel about having another baby?"

Gaby gaped at him, not quite able to believe that she'd actually heard him correctly. Her ears were ringing; she felt lightheaded; she wasn't even sure she could speak. Finally, she forced herself to squeak, "Huh?"

Carlos sat up, putting his hands on her thighs and rubbing them gently. "Another baby," he repeated, and Gaby felt another wave of nausea. "I've been thinking about it for awhile now, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up."

"You…You…You can't be serious."

"I am. What do you think?"

"I think you're crazy," she said, finally regaining some rational part of her brain. "Celia is finally starting kindergarten in the fall. Our kids are grown up! Now is not the time to have any more!"

"Our kids are five and eight, not old enough to rent a car."

Gaby shook her head, standing up and backing away from him. "No. No, no, no. End of discussion."

"Gaby!"

She left the room without bothering to respond, grateful when Carlos didn't follow her.

* * *

"Are they gone?"

Lynette patted the baby's bottom, staring up at Tom with a dozen conflicting emotions flashing in her eyes. In the hour or so that her friends had been there, he'd been flitting around like a mother hen, casting nervous glances in the direction of Susan's house and giving her these disconcerting looks. This was on top of how much he'd already been hovering around her. She'd only gotten home from the hospital yesterday, but he'd practically been glued to her side the whole time. In all their years of marriage, she'd never seen him act so strangely, and she honestly couldn't decide if she was more annoyed or concerned. "Yeah," she finally said, fighting to keep her voice even. "They're gone."

"And Paul?"

Lynette raised an eyebrow. "Is still in Susan's house as far as I know."

"No, I mean, what is he doing here? Did you talk to Lee?"

"He's renting Susan's place, but we don't know why or how. I tried to call Susan a couple of times, but she's not answering."

"Oh."

"I have half a mind to march over there and ask him what the hell he's doing here."

"Whoa," said Tom, his eyes widening and his mouth turning down in worry. He sat down next to her on the couch, turned so he was almost on top of her. "I don't think you need to do that."

"Okay…"

"It's just…I mean, you'll get a hold of Susan. I'm sure she can call and figure all of this out. There's no reason for you to go over there."

Lynette frowned, momentarily stilling her rocking. Paige whimpered, but Lynette was barely aware that the baby was even still in her arms. "What is going on with you?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You're acting weird."

Tom gave a queer laugh—tight and obviously forced—and leaned in to kiss her. "Nothing," he repeated, standing up and backing away toward the kitchen. "There's nothing going on. I just don't like the idea of Paul Young living next door."

"Neither do I."

"Good. We're in agreement then. And you won't go over there."

"Tom—"

"Promise me?"

She stared at him for a long minute, unable to decipher the look on his face. For the life of her, she could not figure out what he was so anxious about. "Lynette?" he prompted. "Please. Promise me."

"Okay," she agreed slowly. "I won't go over there."

"Thank you." He smiled, genuinely this time. "I'll make dinner tonight, okay? What do you want? Chicken?"

Lynette nodded, more baffled by this manic change in attitude than the fact that he'd volunteered to cook. "Sure."

"Great!" He clapped his hands, suddenly coming toward her again and planting a kiss on her forehead; then he turned and left the room. Unsettled, she turned her attention back to the baby, shushing and rocking her mindlessly. Usually she could read Tom like a book; whatever was going on, the most disconcerting part was that she didn't understand it. And, worst of all, she was really too tired to try to figure it out.


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: **This is all for fun, not for profit. Nothing new here.

**Equivocacy**

By **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Three**

"Call me when you've thought about this," pleaded Jack as Bree ushered him out of the door. "We can talk some more. Figure out what you want to do."

Bree scarcely heard him; hardly registered it when he pushed a business card into her hand. She felt very much like a woman on the verge of drowning, so exhausted from the effort of treading water that death might have been the better alternative. This was too much; too much on top of Sam taking everything from her, and Orson leaving, and the weight of confession still hanging heavily over her. She could barely process what Jack had told her, let alone whether or not it had any merit. The absurdity of such an idea seemed barely worth comprehending.

Sinking down onto the couch, Bree clasped her hands together and stared blankly across the room. It took her a moment to register that the world was blurring, colors running together like the watercolor paintings Danielle used to make as a child; there was a slight sting; she was about to cry. The urge to repress the emotion came and went in an instant—in her entire life Bree had never felt that it was more appropriate to break down.

Her sobs came silently, breaking like waves over rocks as tears streamed down her cheeks. As a woman who was so often alone even in the most crowded room, Bree was overly familiar with pangs of loneliness, but at this moment she was sure she might die of solitude. She quite suddenly and ferociously longed for Rex and Orson, some twisted conglomeration of the two of them, the two men who had together known her since she was eighteen. As though they would provide reassurance that she was still the same person she'd always been.

She had the sudden, frightening thought that neither of them would recognize her. Wasn't that why Orson had left, anyway?

Without warning, the front door opened, and for a second, Bree actually believed it might be Orson. She turned, not bothering to wipe away one tear, but when Andrew stepped into the house her entire demeanor changed. Standing, she brushed at her cheeks and took a deep breath; in some strange way, there was something comforting about the way he burst into the house with no effort at politeness.

"Mom?" Andrew spotted her and hurried into the room, arms crossed in that defensive manner he'd learned from her. "Hey, I wanted—What's wrong?"

Bree shook her head, trying and failing to smile. "Nothing."

"You're crying." It came out as an accusation, but there was an undertone of fear that irrationally calmed her. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd let Andrew see her cry; she was not about to increase that number. "I'm fine," she murmured.

"Did you say something to the Solises? Is that's what's wrong?"

"What? No." She sighed, sinking back onto the couch and pressing a palm to her cheek to dry it. "No, I didn't get a chance to speak with Gaby."

A slight spark of hope lit Andrew's eyes; he sat down next to her. "You changed your mind?"

"I was distracted," she said, not a denial or an affirmation. She didn't have the strength to dissect her phrasing. "I—I'm distracted."

Andrew frowned and reached out to touch her hand. To Bree's surprise, he took the business card from her fingers; she'd clenched it beyond recognition. "Who is Jack Pinkham?"

"An old friend of your father's."

"Is that why you're so upset? Is this something else about Dad?"

"No. He stopped by to tell me something—It's nothing, really, Andrew."

"Mom."

Bree turned and stared at her son, surprised by the level of concern in his expression. Suddenly Andrew seemed very much his age; a man rather than a boy. He looked so like Rex. Somehow, she hadn't really noticed before. Then, just as she thought this, she realized that none of it mattered. The only thing that was important was that Andrew was here. After all of these years, after everything that had happened, he was here with her.

"Andrew," she said slowly, her equilibrium finally returning, "I have to tell you something."

* * *

No matter how exhausted she was, since she'd become a mother, Lynette had found it impossible not to wake at the slightest provocation. A creak in the hallway if one of the kids tried to sneak downstairs; the door squeaking as Tom tried to come to bed without waking her; and in this instant, the harsh glare of light as Tom turned on the bedside lamp. Groaning, Lynette rolled onto her side and blinked at her husband. "Tom," she whined, furrowing her brow at the sight of him sitting with the baby. "What are you doing?"

"She was fussing."

"I didn't hear her."

Tom shrugged a shoulder, his eyes still fixated on Paige. "I turned off the monitor after you fell asleep and went into the nursery."

Lynette allowed herself a brief smile before her moment of tenderness was overshadowed by reality. Bewildered, she sat up, silently willing Tom to look at her. "Well then why did you bring her in here?" she asked incredulously.

"I don't know. I didn't want to leave her." Finally, he shot her a cautious look, a tentative worry lingering in his eyes. In the weak light, he seemed older and more tired than she'd ever seen him. "First night home."

Lynette reached out and traced Tom's profile with her finger. He gave her a tiny smile, but then his eyes went right back to their daughter. "Sweetie—"

"She has your ears," Tom interrupted, gently touching Paige's right ear and smiling as she waved her arms. The tip of his finger was nearly as large as her ear. With a touch of self-deprecating humor, Lynette sighed, "I hope not."

"You have cute ears."

"No one has cute ears."

Tom ignored this, taking one of Paige's hands and counting each of her fingers. Lynette watched with an ambivalent heart. There was something beyond sweet about seeing him worship their daughter with the same awe he'd shown all of their children; at the same time, the worry she'd felt all day niggled at the back of her mind. Even now, she couldn't put her finger on it—what was different? She thought that maybe if she wasn't so tired she could puzzle it out.

Who was she kidding? She was always better when she was direct.

"Tom, what's going on?"

"Huh? Nothing."

Lynette watched for a moment as he moved on to counting Paige's toes, and then turned around to face him, crossing her legs and putting a hand on his knee. "Honey, you've been hovering all day."

"Helicopters hover."

"Are you drunk?"

Tom rolled his eyes lovingly, for the first time showing some sign of humor. At that moment, Lynette realized what had seemed so strange—there was some underlying sadness to him this evening. Melancholia personified through her husband; just the thought of it made her tense. "Tom, I'm worried about you. Can you please talk to me?"

Slowly, Tom moved Paige from where she rested against his legs into the crook of his arm, rocking her soothingly. Staring at the baby but addressing her, he said softly, "I think I'm just trying to reconcile with the fact that I missed her birth. I'm never going to get that moment back."

Lynette pressed her lips together and swallowed hard in an attempt to get rid of the lump in her throat. If she could go back in time and stop herself from ever showing up at Eddie's doorstep that night, she would. Her regret was sharper in this moment than ever before. "I know."

"I feel like I lost something."

"Tom," she murmured, squeezing his knee firmly. "You missed one moment in her life. But you're going to be there for everything else. The first time she rolls over, her first word, her first day of school…"

"You don't know that."

"I do. You've always been there for the big moments in our kids' lives. God, I still remember you walking endless circles downstairs while Parker held onto your finger. Teaching him how to walk. It's going to be the same this time."

Tom nodded, but skepticism lingered in his eyes; it looked like he was trying and failing to hide it from her. "I think it's just going to take awhile to forget I missed her very _first_ moment," he said.

"I know." Lynette leaned in, kissing him softly. There was nothing else to say; nothing she could do. Nothing but wait and hope. "I know."


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: **This show is absolutely not mine. If it was, I wouldn't be writing AU stories. Author's notes at end.

**Equivocacy**

By **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Four**

Carlos Solis was well-aware that he had faults. He often compromised his morals to further his own success; his patience was almost nonexistent, the twin brother of his wrath; if he stopped and counted, he was sure that he committed more of the deadly sins on a regular basis than their virtuous counterparts; he went to church about half as often as he should, and confession even less. Despite all of this, he didn't dwell on the fate of his immortal soul. Whatever pangs of guilt he felt for his behavior was balanced by his unwavering faith in his one redeeming quality: above all else, he held his family in highest esteem; he would do anything for his wife and daughters, take in a long lost cousin in trouble, personally bring his aunt into his home to heal her through a long illness. Nothing was more important to him.

And somehow he had ended up married to the woman who was the very antithesis of this. Gaby, who still viewed the world with a selfishness that made her often put her own needs before her daughters, who would boot his long lost cousin to the curb, and put up the money for a nursing home before taking in a sick relative. Long ago, he'd come to accept these qualities in his wife. He understood that family had never been for her what it had been for him—unconditional, supportive love. Her mother had never set eyes on Celia, the last time her sister had called had been for a loan, and Carlos had never even met her brother. But whatever her views, Gaby was his family, first and foremost. Gaby, Juanita and Celia. Every day he looked at them and loved them and thought of how very blessed he was and tried _not _to think of how it still felt like there was something missing. Some_one_ missing.

Three days ago, he'd been sitting in a hotel bar, celebrating his birthday with a scotch and cigar. Earlier that night, Gaby had been whispering dirty words in his ear, promising to do things to him when he got home that she hadn't yet delivered. It was his own fault, he supposed, for opening his big mouth and bringing up a baby. The words had spilled out before he thought them through, and the results were the worst he could have expected. Gaby had traded beds with Celia, and Carlos had spent the night failing to avoid his daughter's kicks. Needless to say, it hadn't been a particularly restful evening.

Now he sat in his car, the light of Friday morning dawning in the sky, not particularly regretting ditching Gaby to deal with the girls' morning routine on her own so he could escape to work (never mind that it wouldn't help convince her to try for a third child). His bad mood—a combination of annoyance and sleep deprivation—was also not helped by the fact that he was sitting in the Scavos' driveway, watching Tom say the world's longest goodbye to his wife and newborn daughter. Idly, he pressed on the horn and repressed a smirk as Tom jumped a foot in the air. Lynette threw him a half-amused, half-exasperated look, but he just waved, fake smile plastered on his face, and then tapped the face of his watch with his finger.

As though he was going to be late; it was scarcely seven in the morning.

Lynette reached out and took the baby from Tom, leaning up and pecking him on the lips as she did so. Tom wrapped a hand around her neck, trapping her, and gave her a much longer kiss. It took everything in Carlos' power to resist hitting the horn again.

Finally, Lynette gave Tom a gentle push, and he stepped back, saying something that made her laugh and roll her eyes. With reluctance, he backed up, not taking his eyes off of them until he actually bumped into the car. Lynette shook her head, waved, and went into the house, but whatever spell she had Tom under didn't seem to lessen once she was out of sight. He got into the car with a sigh, eyes still lingering on the house as though he might see her through the walls.

"Good morning," said Carlos, trying to cajole Tom to the here and now more than actually greet him. All he got in return was a distracted murmur, what could have been a "hi" but sounded more like, "uhn." Noting the dark circles under his friend's eyes, the bleary look in his eyes, Carlos had the impression that Tom hadn't had any more sleep than he had. The thought irrationally lessened his annoyance. "Long night?"

"I was up with the baby."

"Yeah…Uh, Congratulations, man."

Tom blinked, coming out of some stupor, and finally glanced at Carlos. "Thanks."

Disconcerted, Carlos put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway onto the deserted cul-de-sac. The world around them still slumbered silently, doors shut and lights off, with one exception. As they drove past Susan's, Carlos did a double take, surprised to see Paul Young standing outside watering Susan's lawn. Surprised to see Paul Young at all, despite Gaby's warning.

"So," he said, dragging out the vowel as he tore his eyes from their newly reinstated neighbor, "that's weird."

Tom snorted. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

"What is he doing here?"

"I don't know. I don't want to know. I'm kind of hoping I'll wake up and find out the past three weeks have just been some bad dream. Including Paul."

Despite his piqued curiosity, Carlos couldn't quite bring himself to inquire about what was bothering his friend. A headache was pressing behind his eyes, and the return of Paul Young was the least of his problems. "Hey," he said, forcing some strain of positivity into his voice, "you have a new baby at home. Whatever else is going on, that kind of overshadows it, right?"

"Yeah," Tom agreed softly. He was still staring out the window, seeing some phantom that was not there as they passed houses that blurred together in their sameness. "Do you ever feel like your whole life is out of your control?"

Carlos gave a sharp bark of laughter. Gaby's protestations aside, whether or not he destroyed or tampered with every form of birth control in the house, the truth was that having another baby was so far beyond his control that he couldn't handle it. It was easy to blame Gaby, to some extent he would, but he also knew that both of his girls had been gifts from God, and just because he was stingy enough to want a third, it didn't mean that miracle would be granted.

Convincing Gaby to try, though, would be a start.

"You have no idea," he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Tom gave him a curious look, and Carlos sighed. "I'm trying to convince Gaby to try for another baby."

For the first time, Tom smiled, a wry twitch of his lips that told Carlos he knew exactly how that had been received. "Lynette and I had that conversation once. She said no, but six months later she was pregnant with Penny."

"Yeah, well, you've never really had any problems in that department, have you?"

Tom frowned, and Carlos felt a pang of guilt. It was easy to put his foot in his mouth sometimes; easy to forget that he didn't have the monopoly on loss and sorrow. Glossing over his own _faux pas_, he added, "She won't even talk about it. She stormed out of the room just because I brought it up."

"Maybe," said Tom absently, "she doesn't know how to talk about it."

Carlos' brow furrowed, not bothering to respond even as Tom's words echoed in his mind. There was no question that Gaby avoided what she didn't want to discuss. The idea that she was incapable, though, had never once entered his mind.

Strange that it would be Tom to have the insight. Strange, especially given that Lynette was the most annoyingly forthright person he knew.

Strange that he actually thought Tom might be right.

* * *

"Mommy, are you crying?"

Susan wiped her eyes surreptitiously and plastered on her best fake smile for her eight-year-old son. As hard as the past few weeks had been, she had remained fairly composed—at least comparatively. In the twenty-four hours she had been away from Wisteria Lane, she'd cried more times than she had in the past month combined. This morning's tears were prompted by the sight of MJ in his school uniform. Even Susan wasn't naïve enough to believe that they'd be able to afford to put him back in private school next year, even if she somehow became the principal of the school.

She was failing her son. She and Mike both were. And MJ, smiling and happy and innocent, had no idea. Years from now, he'd be as withdrawn as Julie, questioning his parents' choices, probably drinking himself to death.

And there were the tears again.

"I'm fine, baby," she lied. "It's just allergies."

MJ shrugged and picked up his backpack. "Maybe you're allergic to the new apartment."

"Maybe."

She followed MJ to the door, sighing as she stepped outside and surveyed the tacky exterior. Mike had promised it would look better in the light of a new morning; he was wrong. Across the way, she could still see her neighbor's laundry flapping in the spring breeze; the pool looked even more scummy and desolate today; the cheap white paint was still peeling off of the cast iron bars outlining the second story of the complex. In her mind, she could picture her friends' reactions should she ever bring them here (she wouldn't): Bree's fake smile—the one that didn't reach her eyes; Lynette looking sympathetic, but relieved that it wasn't her; Gaby not even bothering to hide her disgust. As unbearable as this place was, somehow her friends knowing about it would make it even worse.

The problem was that she didn't want to return to Wisteria Lane either. The thought of seeing strangers in her house, of even seeing the place she'd called home for nearly thirty years: it was unbearable.

"Can I go swimming after school?"

"It's too cold," said Susan automatically. Her footsteps clanged on the cast iron stairs; she'd never be able to maneuver up and down them in heels, she decided. "I'll get your games unpacked this afternoon. Maybe we can play Candyland."

"I'm too old for that."

Susan's eyes watered again, and she nearly tripped down the last two stairs.

Oblivious, MJ ran to the car and opened the door. Susan took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down and think of something practical lest she crash the car on the way to school. She should get Lynette something for the baby, she decided. Bree was knitting enough booties for an army of babies, and Gaby had said something about alcohol. With limited funds and skills, she really only had one viable option. She still had extra copies of her old children's books around somewhere; certainly Lynette hadn't kept all of her kids' old stuff.

Or maybe she'd paint something. Something new. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd picked up a paintbrush.

The thought cheered her considerably, and by the time she dropped MJ off, she was actually looking forward to getting home and digging out her old art supplies. Even if she had taken the day off to unpack, she could certainly afford a couple of hours to indulge her creative outlet. Mike would understand. And even if he didn't, he'd pretend to; guilt was weighing on him heavily now.

She glanced back at MJ one last time. He'd found his friends on the playground and had joined in the cacophony of shouting and laughing children. The thought of tearing him away from this was almost enough to drag her mood back down, but before she could indulge her melancholy—or fight it—someone pounded on her window and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Susan!" shouted Gaby, her voice muffled by the glass. Susan rolled down the window, hand on her heart as she willed it to slow.

"You scared me," she said, but Gaby didn't seem to hear her.

"We tried to call you all day yesterday."

Immediately, her defenses prickled. Gaby, who even at her most destitute had never even come close to giving up her home, had no idea what she was going through. "Well," she huffed, "I was a little busy."

"Susan, are you aware that you rented your house to Paul Young?"

"What? No I didn't."

"Yeah, you did."

"He's in jail."

"Not anymore."

Susan blinked, unable to reconcile Gaby's words with reality. She hadn't seen Paul in ten years. There was no way he was in her house right now. No way he was standing in her kitchen—sleeping in her bedroom—smiling in that eerily pleasant way he had at her friends and neighbors. It was ridiculous.

"Susan? Did you hear me?"

Ridiculous.

"Susan?"

But then, everything about her life right now was ridiculous.

"Gaby, I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Susan—"

She put the car into drive, giving Gaby barely enough time to back away before she peeled away from the curb, ignoring all of the posted signs about school zone speed limits. All of her reservations about returning to Wisteria Lane were forgotten, her depressed alleviated for the time being, all feeling and emotion lost in the thought that Paul Young, murderer, might be eating breakfast in her kitchen at this very moment.

She couldn't believe it—wouldn't—unless she saw it with her own eyes.

Back at the school, Gabrielle pulled out her phone and hit three on her speed dial. "Hey," she said with a sigh. "I may have done something stupid…"

* * *

**A/n: **Boy, there is a lot going on. I guess, first and foremost, I should mention that I've stopped watching the new season. I gave this season a chance, but it's no longer enjoyable for me to watch. Basically, I'm pretending that the new season doesn't even exist (the only way I'm getting through it). I'll be posting more extensively about this on my blog, but I think it's important to mention it here as well.

That decision really fueled my return to this fic. I was knocking around the idea of writing an AU season eight, and then remembered I already had an AU season seven in the works. And since I hated the way season seven ended, I thought it might be better to back up even further than the beginning of the current season. As I re-read this, I liked the foundation I had built more than I remembered, so I decided to pick up where I left off.

Hopefully, there's still some interest in this story. I know it's been a long time since I updated, but I have a renewed energy and interest in this fic. That said, I would love to hear what you think. Thank you all for your feedback (in advance for this and for any of you who have left reviews in the past). You guys really give me a great motivation to keep writing; despite everything, I still love this fandom.

Thank you! You guys are wonderful!

-Ryeloza


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